Kiss With a Fist
by comparisons
Summary: Songfic based on Kiss With a Fist by Florence and the Machine.


_you hit me once/ I hit you back/ you gave a kick/ I gave a slap_

Daggers nearly shoot from her eyes, venom wetting her tongue. It's hate, she's sure of it. The emotion rings with a certain familiarity, flooding her with renewed purpose. Hate is pure, vengeance is sweet, and she revels in that thrilling rush through her veins. Just seeing those blonde, over-fried curls is enough to have her seething. The other woman has gall, she'll give her that. Blood boils thick and fists clench. A line's been crossed that night, and she doesn't even try to suppress her anger in time to stop the fist that goes flying.

Knuckles connect with a jaw, sending a satisfying crack through the night air. She has just enough time to look smug before a punch meets her own lips, sending her stumbling backwards several steps. Flowers fall to the ground, freeing her hand to wipe away the taste of copper on her tongue. She looks at the blood, almost smiling in amusement. A sick pleasure. The blonde makes it clear that she has every intention of smacking the smile right off her face as their bodies are sent crashing into brick. There's little room to maneuver.

Two strong hands intercept.

* * *

_blood sticks, sweat drips/ break the lock if it don't fit/ a kick in the teeth is good for some/ a kiss with a fist is better than none_

Their first time is rough. It's teeth and tongues and sharp nails. It's heavy moans and tugs of the hair. They spew threats of hate at each other, and then mend the words with greedy kisses. It's mostly taking, but goes not without its share of giving. Feverish hands make quick work of front doors and blouse buttons before their bodies tumble into a mattress that is eager to absorb every wrestling kick for control.

Teasing Emma is a little too enjoyable. Fingertips dance in torturous circles, and hisses urge her to just get on with it. Her compliance garners thrusts that are hard and fast too quickly, with fingers curled until her name is coaxed from the other woman's lips. It's an unspoken competition, dangerous landmines in a wasteland of lust, with the objective of bringing the other to release the fastest.

Heated bodies writhe under cool bed sheets for hours, the reality of their actions threatening to become known should they stop. When the moon begins to drop from its peak, a goodbye goes unspoken. The bed is still on fire when she leaves.

* * *

For a while, their public arguments turn into private quests for dominance in the bedroom. People don't dare draw attention to the changed dynamic. Asking would bring about answers no one is ready to hear. Both begin to think that maybe it's not hate, after all.

* * *

_you smashed a plate over my head/ and I set fire to our bed_

"You did this!"

A strong hand slams Regina against a locker, tight fingers fisting her shirt and cutting circulation off in her wrists. Emma's body trembles with rage.

"You lied," she accuses, "you lied about everything. Henry was right – you're nothing but an evil _witch_." The words come out in biting distaste. Regina can't even hang her head or break eye contact. She swallows down quickly, face defaulting into stoicism.

"Emma, please." She wrestles a hand free, reaching for Emma's face. As if burned, the blonde moves away from the touch.

"You ruined my family. You sent everyone here. I was supposed to grow up with parents. I was supposed to –" a choked cry billows from her chest, each sentence a full-stop laced with emotions she spent twenty-eight years nurturing. "You took away all of our happy endings. Dammit, Regina…" with a slight shove, she drops her hands and turns away. Regina stays pressed against the lockers. A deadened silence fills the room.

"If you could just understand—" Regina starts.

"Please, I'd love to hear your reasoning."

"I was in a very dark place."

"We all have bad days, Regina. Normal people don't go cursing an entire world."

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" Emma spits, the demand a verbal knife to the throat. Their bodies are pressed up against one another again, both wanting dominance, both waiting for the other to take it. That's the only way they've ever acted in each other's presence. The heat from their shallow breathing mingles together, a now familiar sensation. Emma shakes her head in disgust. "I have to leave. I can't be around you right now."

She's at the door when Regina's voice stops her. "You hate me, don't you?"

Emma lifts her chin, answering cruelly, "I always have."

That night, smashed porcelain and glass shards are swept up into dustbins.


End file.
